


i'll swallow my pride if you'll stay for the years

by sharoncarters



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, You've Got Mail AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7792285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharoncarters/pseuds/sharoncarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharon Carter singlehandedly brings back the art of letter writing. / You've Got Mail AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so niche lmfao who is even going to read this. who cares about you've got mail like i care about you've got mail? but anyway. i've changed the plot in obvious ways: letters instead of emails, shield instead of bookstores. and also, the shield in this fic is a slightly more office-like space than it is in the movies/comics. more corporate, less superhero. i split it into chapters because fun. hope all of this makes sense, enjoy!!

Prologue

 

_Daily Horoscope:_

_Aries: You will meet an annoying woman today._

_Taurus: You will read her desperate plea for companionship. (Look! This one is her sign. Isn’t that nice?)_

_Gemini: You will decide whether or not to keep reading said desperate plea._

_Cancer: She is running out of things to write. She didn’t know that this many Zodiac signs existed._

_Leo: Insert more witty babbling here._

_Virgo: Desperate woman is looking for a pen-pal._

_Libra: Desperate woman will settle for anyone, really. She’d really like someone to talk to about politics, books, movies, whatever. Anything you’d like._

_Scorpio: If interested and still reading after this pathetic attempt at a clever ad in a newspaper that surely no one reads anymore, please write to Dear Friend, P.O. Box #1375, Washington D.C. Please take pity on me._

_Sagittarius: Seriously. I’m bored out of my mind and online chat rooms are a no-go._

_Capricorn: There are so many creeps on the internet, have any of you ever tried online dating? At least with this I’d know that someone is a really dedicated pervert, you know? Taking the time out to buy stamps and everything._

_Aquarius: Fuck it, I’m out of shit to say. How’s that for eloquent?_

_Pisces: Kudos to you if you’ve read till the end, honestly. You are a braver soul than I._

Steve actually snorts when he opens the mail from Sam, disguised as spam in case anyone is snooping, along with the weekly letter that his friend has been sending these last few months. 

“Just the kind of shit you’d find funny” Sam had written. 

Texting was hard where he was, especially being overseas. Phones can always be traced, and messages can’t be trusted. At least with this, with Sam’s sloppy writing, Steve knows that it’s actually him. It gives him some peace of mind, to know that one thing in this hell-hole is actually real, even if it’s just a piece of paper that he has to burn after he reads it. 

He’s stationed in Bavaria, a surprisingly highly Hydra-populated location, he’s come to find out, as his work takes him from place to place. Bucky’s here, too, but they’re not supposed to know each other. It’s too suspicious. They stick to two meetings a month, in randomized locations. It gets lonely, pretending to be someone else. 

“You should write her,” Sam had also written. 

Steve sits in the Hydra facility facading as a SHIELD base of operations, and wonders how dangerous it would be, just to answer her. How stupid of him, how selfish, to involve someone he doesn’t know in this already outrageous plan. How late he would receive her letters, how late his own responses would be. 

He could lie, tell everyone that she’s a relative, but he wouldn’t want to risk her safety. He’s already a target here, pretending to be a clueless soldier among the endless faces that he’s supposed to suss out. 

And for some reason, despite all of that, he still wants to. Steve wants to write to someone who has no idea who he is, what he’s doing. Someone who won’t judge him. 

He wants to, so he does.

 

* * *

 

1 Year, 3 Months Later

 

“Let’s go out,” is becoming Sharon’s least favorite phrase in the entire world; right after the way that Mitch barks “AGENT THIRTEEN” at the top of his lungs like he thinks she can’t hear him yelling from right inside his office, even though she’s been sitting at the same desk in front of it for a year; and only second to Aunt Peggy’s signature “You’re so grown up”.

Surely there _has_ to be some other way to meet people besides getting drunk at a bar and groping for the closest piece of flesh. Sharon just can’t accept the fact that men don’t exist outside of those disgusting, demeaning social situations. Granted, she has yet to meet a nice guy on the subway or in the library, but it’s nice to hope, on occasion. The people that she usually meets in places that she’d _like_ to meet a nice guy are usually the last people that she’d want to talk to, if you catch her drift. 

Sharon lets out a loud sigh, glancing from Natasha’s text in the group chat to the time printed in tiny letters at the top of her phone’s screen, and then a groan when she calculates that she still has _four hours_ of work left. What she really wants to do is get to the post office before it closes, but if Mitch is going to insist that she create her own weight in paperwork before she leaves for the night, that window of opportunity will soon be closed. 

Four years of working her ass off for this shitty agency and this is all she has going for her. Sharon looks up at Natasha, who’s furiously typing away on her cell, completely ignoring Mitch in favor of responding angrily to Sharon’s “I’m not feeling well” text. 

Which was… not _entirely_ a lie. Every time it’s a “letter day”, as Sharon’s dubbed it in her head, her stomach gets all twisty and she feels like she can’t breathe until she’s at home, in bed, carefully opening the letter (or two, depending on how late they’re sent — but those are only special days) from Dear Friend. 

In her head, she’d like to think that Dear Friend is named something mysterious and hot, like James or Edward, but she knows that that might not be the case. Sharon doesn’t really care though. It’s less annoying than Nat calling him Mr. Darcy, which is awful and cliche but also something that Sharon had referred to him herself, once, and is now horribly embarrassed by. 

“AGENT THIRTEEN!” And there is Mitch once again, the bane of her existence, yet another thing to add to her list of “Reasons Why I’m Single”, also including but not limited to: her obsession with World War II novels, her weird double-jointed thumb, and the fact that she still lives with her aunt. 

Said aunt being the reason why Sharon stays with SHIELD at all. Despite its obvious corruption and the downturn it has taken in the past few years that Sharon’s been working for the organization, it’s still the place that her Aunt Peggy founded. There are still good people working there, like Nat and Hope and even Clint, always goofing off in the corner. Sharon, despite all of her aversions to authority and problems respecting it, still believes in what SHIELD can do; what it was founded for. 

And she still wants to do some good in the world. 

Which is why she turns around in her chair, sliding her cell into the pocket she had sneakily sewn into her skirt, and gives Mitch a polite smile. “Yes?” Mitch makes no effort to return said smile. _The promotion_ , Sharon tells herself. _Do it for the promotion_. She’s so _so_ close to finally making her way up in SHIELD, getting that level 10 clearance that she’s always wanted. And now that Coulson is gone, on to bigger and better things, the position is wide open. She could be _Mitch’s_ boss, instead of suffering his arrogance day after day. 

Sharon leans back in her chair more, searching for a glimpse of Director Fury behind Mitch’s closed door and lowered blinds. 

“My office,” he spits around a mouthful of of jelly donut. “ _Now_ ,” he emphasizes, as if Sharon wouldn’t have understood otherwise, even though he’d gestured quite clearly. Nat throws her a sympathetic look as Sharon makes her way over, and Hope gives her an encouraging thumbs up. Bobbi’s out on a case, or she would’ve stuck her tongue out, equally encouraging.

 

* * *

 

Mitch is pulling down the blinds to his office when Sharon walks in, and is consequently greeted with two new faces. Well, not entirely new. Sharon’s known Nick Fury since she’s been a little girl. He’s helped her out with Aunt Peggy more times than she can remember, and she’s always been eternally grateful for his protection and kindness.

Maybe his presence here is a good sign, and he’s here to kick Mitch on his ass and put Sharon in charge. He’s sitting in Mitch’s chair behind the desk, and Sharon’s ready for this, she _knows_ she is. 

The other face in the room, however, isn’t as encouraging. Sharon has never seen this guy before. He’s either a trainee or someone who’s just graduated from the Academy. Albeit, he does look a little too old to be a new graduate. And he’s… attractive. Too good looking, even, with his hard jaw and unbelievably clear blue eyes, dressed in a suit that Clint would never be caught dead wearing, meaning simply that it fits him correctly.

“Sit down, Thirteen,” Mitch says, leaning against the file cabinet to the left of Fury and motioning to the chair in front of the desk. Blonde suit guy is stationed awkwardly at Fury’s other side, not as comfortable as Mitch looks, but Mitch is the kind of guy that wears pajamas to work when he knows that nothing important is going to happen. He’d make himself comfortable in a dumpster. 

Sharon sits. Fury nods. It’s deadly silent. 

The director clears his throat. “Sharon, I’d like you to meet Captain Steve Rogers. He’s come back after spending a long time undercover, exposing Hydra agents and gaining SHIELD irreplaceable intel. He’s going to be running the office in place of Mr. Solas from now on. Understood?” Sharon feels her throat closing up. The way Fury had said it was final, like there was no room for argument. 

She doesn’t know why — deflection, probably; a desperate attempt to get her mind off of the fact that her future just crashed and burned right in front of her eyes — but Sharon’s first thought is of Tony. Tony, who only deigns to show up at work maybe three times a week if they’re lucky (which, luck might not be the word Mitch would use to describe it, but Sharon definitely would), and yet still somehow has a job. She can’t imagine what it’ll be like to see Tony interacting with this Captain Rogers guy, but at this point it sure would make her feel better. 

Steve Rogers is holding out his hand awkwardly, and all Sharon can do is gape at it, looking back and forth between his outstretched arm and Fury’s unreadable face. “Hi,” is all she can manage. Steve lowers his arm, chuckling softly to himself, and that makes rage boil up inside of Sharon so fast that she thinks she’s going to get whiplash. 

“Sir,” she says next, as if she can somehow dig her way out of this; convince him that she deserves the job instead. “I just thought, after all the years I’ve spent here, and—”

“Sorry, Thirteen,” Mitch smirks from his corner, “looks like you’ve just been beat. Again.” Sharon’s head throbs. Fury glares in Mitch’s direction. 

“Captain Rogers is perfectly capable of occupying a leadership position in SHIELD,” Fury explains her with a small shrug, like, ‘what can I do’, except that he’s the director and Sharon has no idea why he’s doing this to her right now, when he could just be giving her a promotion, “and given his track record and the fact that he just busted the largest group of Hydra agents ever hiding in our organization, we trust him. I think you are going to be of great assistance to Mr. Rogers as he settles in here. I’ll be back in a week or so to check on your progress.” This last bit Fury offers to Steve as he gets up from the desk, motioning for Mitch to follow him. 

“Don’t let me down, Sharon,” is the last thing that Fury says on his way out, giving her arm a small pat in consolation before he exits the room. Sharon, head still spinning, hops out of the seat, smoothing down her skirt in an effort not to look at Captain Steve Rogers, whoever the hell he is. And you know what, now that she thinks about it, he’s not even _that_ attractive. She’s seen way better. 

Steve Rogers awkwardly clears his throat. “So how’d you get the title of Captain?” Sharon asks him. She doesn’t really care, but she doesn’t know what else to say. 

“I, ah, served in the military before I joined SHIELD.” 

“That’s funny,” Sharon snaps, unable to control her horrible, awful mouth; the hurt that seems to be pouring off of her in waves. She’s going to hate herself for it, later, but right now she hates _Captain_ Steve Rogers more than anything else in the entire world. 

“Funny?” he asks, confusion twisting his brow. 

“Yeah, funny. That they think a soldier can run one of the largest SHIELD offices in the country with no prior experience. But, you know, why even hire someone with the correct skills and years of training under their belt, right? I’m sure you’ll do great.” 

Sharon leaves him like that, mouth hung slightly open, as she marches out of the office that she rightfully deserves, and back to sit at her shitty desk for the next few hours, stewing in her anger and ignoring every look that her friends send her way.

 

* * *

 

When Sharon finally gets out of work she’s exhausted and angry, it’s too late to get to the post office, and she has three voicemails waiting for her, all from her well-meaning, if not slightly nosy, middle-aged neighbor.

Natasha knew that Sharon wasn’t really sick, and even though Nat had protested, Sharon insisted. She knew that even if she did go out with her friends, she’d just drag them down, which seemed to be happening more and more lately. Despite her objections, Sharon knew that Natasha understood, and that was all that mattered. 

Nat was the only person that knew about Aunt Peggy. She’d found out on her own, of course, after Sharon’s excuses for not going out had started to become more and more flimsy. Nat had been extremely supportive, though, and covered for Sharon whenever she couldn’t go out, which was pretty much every single night these days. Aunt Peggy’s memory loss has started to become more frequent, and increasingly dangerous. There was no way that Sharon was leaving her alone for longer than necessary. 

With no letter to look forward to, Sharon’s drive home in her aunt’s pathetic old car is a slow, agonizing one. She clicks on her voicemail before she starts the drive, letting all of the messages play through. 

“Sharon, honey, it’s Gayle. Your Aunt came knocking on my door again. Had no idea where she was, poor thing. I tried leading her back to yours, but the door had locked behind her. I’ll stay with her until you get home.” 

Beep. “Sharon, it’s Gayle again. I don’t want to worry you, but Peggy’s had some sort of fit. She was very angry with me, kept calling me Amanda. Just wanted to let you know. See you soon.” 

Beep. “I made your aunt an early dinner. Thought I’d keep you updated. I hope you had a nice day at work, dear.” 

Sharon lets out a ragged sigh, running a hand through her hair. She can feel her lip starting to tremble, and wills herself not to cry, just until she can be in the privacy of her own room. She’s already starting to regret being rude to Steve, but there’s nothing she can do about it now. She’ll have to apologize tomorrow morning. 

She parks her car in her apartment’s dedicated spot, making her slow trek up to the fourth floor, feet aching. When she makes it to the top of the final flight of stairs, she tugs her heels off and holds them in her left hand, purse shrugged over her shoulder, as she goes to knock on Gayle’s door. 

The woman answers with a warm smile, her eyes wrinkling at the sides. Sharon answers with her own tired one in return. “How is she?” Sharon asks Gayle. 

“Much better,” Gayle explains, opening the door wider for Sharon to walk through. “I got some food in her and she took a nap, and she spent the afternoon telling me war stories. It was lovely.” Gayle lets Sharon make her way into the small living room where Aunt Peggy is sitting, looking through one of Gayle’s old photo albums. 

“It’s her favorite thing to do,” Sharon explains with a soft smile, sitting down on the couch next to Aunt Peggy. When her aunt’s eyes meet hers, they’re lucid, which makes Sharon breathe an involuntary sigh of relief. She didn’t think that she could deal with Peggy not knowing who she was tonight. “Hey, Aunt Peggy. Ready to go home?” 

“Yes, dear. I hope you haven’t been too worried about me.”

“I’m always worried about you. You hungry?” Peggy shrugs. Sharon snorts. “Come on. I think we have some cookies.” 

Sharon makes sure to give Gayle a one-armed thank you hug on the way out of her apartment. There’s someone walking up the stairs as Sharon’s shutting the door behind her and Peggy, but she’s too busy looking through her purse for her keys to really care. That is until she looks up and catches the eye of the person that’s just stepped up to the landing. 

“Oh, you have _got_ to be shitting me.” 

“Sharon Carter!” Aunt Peggy chastises from somewhere in the background, half serious and half laughing at the same time. Sharon’s frozen in place, keys in one hand and her shoes in the other, narrowing her eyes at Steve fucking Rogers in _her_ apartment building. Holding a box. She shoves her keys at Aunt Peggy, who instantly knows to go inside. What a wonderful woman. 

Steve puts the box down and runs a hand over his face. “You live here?” he asks, as if _he’s_ the one that’s worn out and done with the day. Fuck him. 

“Unfortunately,” Sharon mutters, crossing her arms over her chest, still holding her stupid shoes. This is the only place that she can afford while she’s taking care of Aunt Peggy, especially because SHIELD doesn’t pay so well. Sharon had been counting on the promotion to maybe help her get out of this place, find somewhere that has more than one bedroom and the broom closet that they call the spare. They’d had to turn the extra one into bedroom for Sharon, so that Aunt Peggy could have the larger space, but it wasn’t much of a room. Her single at the Academy had been bigger. 

She doesn’t begrudge Aunt Peggy anything, of course. She could never put Peggy in a home, though, not after everything that she’s done for Sharon. Her Aunt Peggy practically raised her after her parents died. 

“Look,” Steve starts. “This doesn’t have to be a problem. SHIELD set me up here, and I just got back from being in Germany for god knows how long, and I really just want to sleep. Can we forget this ever happened?” 

Sharon narrows her eyes at him. “SHIELD set you up here? You couldn’t afford anywhere nicer with your high-paying job?” _That you stole from me_ , she doesn’t add. 

He shrugs. “I like simple things. I don’t really need too much.”

“Right.” Sharon glares. Takes a deep breath. “Whatever.” 

She forces her door open and slams it shut as fast as possible, leaning against it and closing her eyes. Aunt Peggy’s waiting for her on the couch. She raises an eyebrow at Sharon when Sharon finally opens her eyes and locks the door behind herself. 

“So,” her aunt prompts, “did you get that promotion?”

That comment, on top of everything else that has gone wrong in the day, causes Sharon to uncharacteristically burst into tears. She drops her purse on the ground near the door and hobbles over to where Peggy's sitting and collapses there, burrowing into Peggy’s side and blubbering in a way that she hasn’t done since she was at least eighteen. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope is the mom friend. you're welcome.

_Dear Friend,_

~~_Bucky is my dog_~~   _BEST FRIEND!!!_

_He wrote that. He’s one of them, at least. We’ve had a… complicated relationship, for work reasons. I know we promised not to tell each other things like this, but I’m sure you’ve noticed (or will notice soon) that the frequency of my letters has changed._

_I’ve moved back home._

_I wish I could tell you everything about how it was… there. Where I was before I came back. My job has forced me to see a side of humanity that I wish I hadn’t. Somehow, even though you don’t know the details of it, I feel like it’ll make you think the worst of me. I feel like you’d look at me differently, if you knew the things that I had to do, the things that I was_ forced _to do, in this line of work. I’m sorry that this makes no sense. Forgive me._

_Your friend._

 

_Dear Friend,_

_Consider it forgiven. But just for the record, I could never think a horrible thought about you in my entire life. You know, since you were worried. Don’t get any ideas._

_I’m kidding._

_In all seriousness, there is nothing that you’ve done (or could do) that I wouldn’t forgive, because deep down, I know that you’re a good person. Whoever you are. You’re my friend. So whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. Because I know it came from a good place._

_Don’t beat yourself up too much._

_Your friend._

 

* * *

 

Just the knowledge that Steve is sleeping next door keeps Sharon from sleep into the wee hours of the morning, so that by the time 6 AM hits and she has to be up for work, she’s barely gotten three decent hours of sleep.

Sharon wakes Peggy up, reminds her not to touch the stove while Sharon’s at work, and prays that they can go one day without another incident. It’s not that Sharon hates her neighbors. She’d just rather not have to see them on a daily basis. Sharon knows, deep down, that Aunt Peggy isn’t getting any better. Peggy has Alzheimer’s, it’s dangerous, and Sharon doesn’t know what to do about it. 

They can barely afford Peggy’s medical bills, even with the small stipend that they receive from SHIELD and Peggy’s retirement plan added on to Sharon’s paycheck. But Sharon’s been living with her Aunt Peggy for years, ever since she found out about her aunt’s illness. She just couldn’t abandon her now, when Peggy needs her the most. How could Sharon lock away the only family she has left in some awful hospital, where her only visitors are nurses and doctors? Discard her like some leftover trash? No, no way. Sharon couldn’t do that to her. 

This train of thought inevitably leads to Steve, and how much Sharon resents him getting the promotion over her. After a brief bit of doubt, Sharon reminds herself that she is tough, she is strong, and she has way more experience working in a SHIELD field office than Mr. Blonde Hair, Blue Eyes, Broad-Shouldered, Suit Wearing Army Guy. His official title, obviously. 

By the time Sharon makes it to the office, sans coffee, because of course she’d been running late due to her unfortunate lack of sleep, she’s angry again. She slumps down at her desk, deciding to keep a low profile in a desperate attempt to at least survive the day, when she’s called in by her new overlord. 

She hasn’t even gotten a chance to greet her friends yet, and he’s already decided to ruin her day. 

“Agent Carter, nice of you to show up this morning,” Steve greets her when she finally opens the door to his office. He’s looking refreshed and calm, the asshole. His hair is still wet from his shower, combed back and neat. He gestures towards the files spread out in front of him. “It’s come to my attention that Mr. Solas didn’t keep up much of a filing system.” 

Sharon lets out an involuntary snort. He’s got that much right. “Why do you think Fury was so eager to replace him?” Sharon asks Steve, and the side of his mouth quirks up, betraying his professional demeanor. 

“Yeah, it’s not pretty. But unfortunately for you, it means a lot of filing this next coming week. Perhaps longer. I haven’t seen the state of the filing room yet. You don’t have any open cases, do you?” Sharon opens her mouth to protest, but the last case that she’d finished had been the week before, with Natasha. It was quick, a simple matter of gathering intel. Sharon tersely shakes her head. 

“Good.” He points at the filing cabinet next to his desk. “You know where the filing room is?” _Do I— Do I know where the filing room is?_ Sharon’s brain shrieks at her. _Are you fucking kidding me?_ This is what losing this promotion has cost her. She’s now being paid to become basically a glorified secretary. Unbelievable. 

She nods again, waits for more instructions. Is this who she is now? Is this what Aunt Peggy raised her to be? Steve looks up from his work, eyes flitting down her form, probably taking in how fucking shitty she looks this morning. “Cat got your tongue, Carter?” he asks, and Sharon’s blood spikes a good sixty degrees. 

“Oh, bite me, soldier.” There goes her plan for apologizing, but you know, screw it. Screw him. Sharon marches over to the filing cabinet, wrenches it open, grabs as many files as she can carry, and marches out of the office, leaving Steve Rogers speechless for the second time in as many days.

 

* * *

 

Sharon stomps her way to the filing room, fuming the entire way there, and dumps the stack of files she’s holding onto the floor. She does the same until the cabinet in Steve’s office is completely empty, with absolutely no response from him. All the better. She doesn’t need his help, and she refuses to ask for it.

Only until she’s done going back and forth does Sharon let herself slow down, dumping the last of the files on one of the large piles that she’s already made, and slumps against the door. Sharon gives herself one short second to collapse and let out a dry heave, sitting there on the floor of the filing room feeling stressed and overwhelmed, because Steve Rogers hates her and life sucks and she didn’t get the promotion and Aunt Peggy is getting worse, and everything is _awful_. 

And then she sits up, calms herself down, and gets to work. If Steve Rogers is going to treat her like a secretary, she’s going to be the best damn secretary that SHIELD has ever seen.

 

* * *

 

Tony finally blesses the office with his presence the Monday after Steve gets the job, and it’s a train-wreck, exactly like Sharon had predicted. Fortunately for her, it was incredibly satisfying to watch.

Mitch had never really cared about Tony’s habits, mostly because Tony was _good_. He was a great agent, quick on his feet, incredibly smart, and blew through cases like nobody’s business when he wanted to. The problem was that he _knew_ it. Tony Stark was acutely aware of how useful an asset he was to SHIELD, and he exploited that in as many ways as he could. 

He came to work late, if ever, treated the agents he didn’t like as interns, and had a blast doing it. Tony sauntered into work three hours late that Monday, nearing lunch, while Sharon was in the filing room. She hadn’t heard him, but Bobbi texted her immediately, and Sharon didn’t want to miss the show. It was draining, sitting in that room day in and day out, organizing and alphabetizing. She was starved for some entertainment. 

She slips out to go watch the confrontation, eager in a way that she only gets when she’s watching _Legally Blonde_ or eating a new burger for the first time. She hides in Clint’s cubicle with Nat, Bobbi and Hope, watching the entire thing go down. 

“Please tell me it didn’t start without me,” she begs her friends, and they all confirm. Clint’s typing away at his computer, having had enough of Tony Stark for a lifetime. Sharon’s definitely had, but she doesn’t care. She needs someone to rip Steve a new asshole, and it might as well be her favorite cousin-slash-coworker. 

“I don’t know who you think you are, Stark,” Steve is starting, and Sharon honestly can’t believe that she didn’t notice that he was wearing _suspenders_ , of all things, which she finds weirdly attractive, “but where I’m from people don’t come into work at lunch and pretend like it’s the norm. Solas was letting you get away with this the entire time you’ve worked here?” 

“I don’t know who you think _you_ are,” Tony retorts, and Sharon lets out a silent squeal, laughing as she hops up onto Clint’s desk and wishing that she had popcorn, “since I’ve literally never seen you here before, and I’ve probably been working for SHIELD since before you were born. What is it that you’re doing in this office, exactly? Warming the seat for Sharon?” 

Sharon practically chokes on air, her gasp is so loud, and she’s never been more proud or more embarrassed or more amused. Tony knows that she can fight her own battles, he knows it. But it’s incredibly satisfying to hear someone tell Steve what she’s been holding in since the day that he got the job. 

“You come into work late one more time, Stark, I’m contacting the Director. Whatever you’re used to, it’s not how this office is going to be run from now on.” 

Tony saunters out of Steve’s office looking incredibly smug, winking at Sharon as he does it. Sharon claps a hand over her mouth so that Steve doesn’t see her surprised laugh. 

“Well, that was intense,” Hope comments, and Nat snorts. Bobbi smacks Clint on the back of the head for fucking around in his email instead of actually working.

“Kinda feel sorry for the guy, now,” Nat muses, making her way back to her desk. Sharon shrugs, not returning the sentiment. Maybe now things will be less tense around here. _Not_ that she forgives Steve, because she doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

A perfect day for Sharon is rare. She hasn’t had one in years, maybe (which is also incidentally the last time she’s been on a date, but that’s neither here nor there). Some days have come close, but nothing quite like this.

She’d woken up the same as always, restless and agitated, needing more sleep than the hours in her day could give. She’d made Aunt Peggy breakfast, made sure that all of her notes (reminding Peggy not to touch the stove, explaining photo albums, labeling her pills) were in the right spots, and made her way to work. She even had time to make coffee before she left, something that wasn’t guaranteed, most days, depending on the time that she woke up. 

Sharon had memorized Steve’s schedule by this point, had learned when he came and went, just so that she could avoid him. Was it childish? Yes, probably. Definitely. 

But it was effective. 

An even better surprise was waiting for her when she got to the office: Steve wasn’t there. He had a day off, Natasha told her, and Sharon had held back a grin and let herself jump a bit in happiness when she went to the bathroom. It was a great day at work, without Steve hounding her. She sorted some files, caught up on emails. The day didn’t drag on like it usually did. 

There were no messages waiting for her when she finally left, meaning that Aunt Peggy had lasted the day, which gave Sharon the encouragement she needed to go pick up some takeout for them to eat for dinner, instead of the leftover lasagna they’d been having for the past week. 

Everything was perfect. Her day was shaping up so, so well, for once in a blue freaking moon, until she finally arrived back at the apartment. Everything came crashing down the second that she opened the door, announcing herself to her aunt, desperate to get changed into her pajamas to end her perfect day with a perfect night. 

“Aunt Peg, I hope you’re hungry, I got Chinese— Oh.” Sharon stops in her tracks, taking in the scene in front of her. Steve Rogers, casual as can be, sitting at her kitchen table with her aunt, his large frame dwarfing their small chairs, the ones that Aunt Angie had helped Sharon pick out in Ikea years ago. 

He at least has the decency to look embarrassed, the huge oaf. The flush that creeps up his neck seems foreign to a body so large. His gigantic presence should make him immune to embarrassment, she thinks. 

“This is my niece Sharon,” Aunt Peggy tells Steve, oblivious to the situation or simply ignoring it. It isn’t the first time that Peggy’s tried to set Sharon up. Sharon rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, we’ve met.” The _unfortunately_ is implied. Sharon walks over and places the bags of food on the table. 

“You didn’t tell me you two were friends,” Aunt Peggy smiles. Sharon wants to be angry with her, but most of all she’s just angry at Steve for taking advantage of her aunt like this. Peggy can’t take care of herself like she used to. 

“I didn’t know that _you_ knew Steve,” Sharon grits through her teeth, hating the way that the smile grows on his face, like he knows something that she doesn’t, the prick. “Can I just borrow him for a second?” Sharon asks, not really caring if she gets a confirmation or not. Steve pushes away from the table, and Sharon grabs his arm, tugging him towards the hallway leading to her bedroom. 

“What are you doing here?” she hisses when they stop, crossing her arms over her chest and looking up at him. He’s not that much taller than her, but she could comfortably rest her head on his chest, if she wasn’t wearing heels. And if she wanted to, which she doesn’t. 

He rubs at the back of his neck, looking down at his feet and then back at her. “Look, it’s not what you think. I had a day off, and she came around, and I couldn’t just tell her to get lost, you know? She was really upset, calling me some guy’s name. Daniel, I think.”

An old boyfriend. Sharon feels a pang of despair for Uncle Gabe, gone but not forgotten (by her, at least). She and Aunt Peggy have that in common: they’re the only ones left. Besides Tony. He’s family; she considers him family, but it’s still different. They’re not blood related. 

Sharon bites down on her lip, hard, to keep herself in check. “She’s really sick,” Sharon tells Steve, voice cracking, as if he hadn’t figured that out already. Steve’s eyebrows knit together, obviously feeling sorry for her. Sharon doesn’t want any of it. “But we don’t need your help.” Ah yes, there’s that asshole face back in place. She knew it wouldn’t be gone for too long. 

“Fine. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” 

“Fine.” 

“Okay.” 

“Good.” He’s still standing there, looking at her. It’s unnerving. Finally, _finally_ , he heads to the door. Aunt Peggy notices, and calls out from the kitchen. 

“You’re not staying for dinner, Daniel?” She already has the table set for three. Sharon frowns. This isn’t good for her, getting attached to another person, getting her hopes up. It’s even worse for Steve, if he gets used to hanging around. No one gets it, having to live like this all the time. Everything will be great for a while, and then they’re doing something stupid, watching TV or taking a walk, and Aunt Peggy will look at Sharon and not even know her. It hurts. It hurts so much, to miss your aunt while she’s smiling right at you. Sharon doesn’t need anyone’s help, and she doesn’t want anyone else to feel like this, ever. Not even Steve. 

“No, he isn’t,” Sharon snaps, following Steve to the door, pushing at his back to get him to walk faster. He turns his head to glare at her. 

“Okay, okay, I’m going. No need for violence, Agent Carter.” She pushes harder, shoving him through the living room. 

“Shut up,” Sharon commands. He opens the door, turning to say something, but she’s done with this entire day. “Bye,” she says, before she slams the door in his face.

 

* * *

 

“So you’re into her,” Bucky says. Steve almost chokes on his beer, sputtering. Sam reaches over to pat him on the back lightly, not helping at all. Steve wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, heart racing.

“No,” Steve objects, simple as that. “She’s just… the most _frustrating_ person I’ve ever met. And it’s like… I can’t even form a response to the things that she says, which just makes me even _more_ frustrated. I don’t know what to do about it.” 

Bucky’s smirking, annoyingly enough. He’s hanging off the couch, legs curled over the back of it, head dangling at the bottom, near Steve’s crossed legs. He does a crunch every time he moves to take another sip of beer, the showoff. Steve protests against his friend’s exercise by shoving another handful of peanuts in his mouth, the only food he has available in his apartment at the moment. Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“I mean, you did take her job,” Sam shrugs, motioning for the snack bowl. Steve grabs it, reaching over Bucky’s stomach to hand it over, and frowns. 

“Not intentionally,” Steve protests, glancing at the wall shared by his and Sharon’s apartments. “It’s not like I came back and thought, _yeah, let me just steal this woman’s job because I have nothing better to do_.”

“’S probably not how she sees it,” Bucky says, doing another crunch, this time to steal the bowl from Sam. “Sounds like she’s worked hard and you just came in and sniped it from her. No wonder she’s pissed.” 

Steve lets out a defeated sigh. It’s been hard, being back. He’d been away so long, undercover for so long, that he’s forgotten what it meant to just… be himself. He can’t remember the things that make him happy anymore, besides the letters. His letters, his girl, the one constant he has. The fact that he even calls her “his girl” causes him to pause. Steve doesn’t know when it changed, when it became something more, but it has. Sharon’s the first woman he’s looked at since they’d started, those letters. He’s not sure what that means.

 

* * *

 

It’s a slow job, creating an entire filing system from scratch. Sharon doesn’t know how long she’s spent in the filing room by herself, but it feels like an eternity. Sharon’s been at it for weeks, and she feels like she’s gotten nowhere. She’s turned to the group chat for support, but Natasha and Hope are being ridiculous. Even Bobbi isn’t on her side. Some friends they are.

9:45 AM, Sharon: i’m dying in here 

9:46 AM, Sharon: send reinforcements 

9:46 AM, Sharon: i’m going to starve. all because that evil dictator hates me and wants me to suffer

9:47 AM, Nat: Literally it’s just filing. I wish i was filing. Instead i have to type up these mission reports, which are a bitch

9:48 AM, Nat: Coincidentally, that is what also what you’re being right now 

9:49 AM, Sharon: UM. rudeness.

9:50 AM, Hope: I think what Natasha’s trying to say is that you’re being a little bit dramatic, Sharon. Steve doesn’t hate you. 

9:50 AM, Bobbi: nah, he hates her. she literally told him to bite her 

9:51 AM, Sharon: i was UPSET and ANGRY. he’s treating me like a assistant!!!!

9:52 AM, Bobbi: which sucks, yeah. but he’s your boss now. you’re lucky that it’s only his first month, or you’d probably be fired by now

9:52 AM, Nat: Are we done with this whining now?? Let’s go out tonight. Come on, Sharon. We haven’t gone out in forever. You need a good drink 

9:53 AM, Bobbi: and to get laid. you have too much pent up aggression 

9:54 AM, Hope: I kind of agree. Maybe getting out will make you feel better. Get you over those letters of yours. 

9:55 AM, Sharon: i can’t believe you guys are ganging up on me

9:55 AM, Sharon: i hate you and everything you stand for

9:55 AM, Sharon: also i am NOT hung up on the letters okay it’s not a big deal

9:56 AM, Sharon: they’re nice and he’s my friend 

9:56 AM, Sharon: but seriously can one of you bring me food or coffee because i’m actually dying in here. i don’t know how long i’ll last. rip 

9:57 AM, Nat: I’ll send someone, you big baby 

She hasn’t thought about it in a long time — sex. Not since… well. Not since she started writing the letters, which is mildly concerning, but also not surprising. She’s a serial monogamist, she can’t help it. And it’s not even like she’s in love with Dear Friend, or whatever, because she’s not. She’s _not_. It’s just that speaking to other men has become a chore, something that she feels like she needs to do when she goes out because her friends want her to, because they’re worried about her. 

Sharon doesn’t want just _anyone_. She wants someone… someone like Dear Friend, and it’s a painful and starling realization. The months and months of wanting, of reading the letters and wishing for more. Sharon puts down her phone with a small, pathetic laugh which turns into a sigh when she stares at the huge pile of paperwork around her. This is going to be a long, long day.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Friend,_

_I’m funnier in writing. There’s more time to plan, not as many awkward silences. Like there — how would you know whether or not I wrote that in a minute or throughout the day? You wouldn’t. It’s amazing._

_In person, everything just comes out sort of… rude. I don’t mean it to, I just have a temper. I don’t like when people are dismissive of me, when men act like I’m some helpless little girl that they need to protect. I can protect myself. I’ve been doing it for years._

_And now that I’ve just said that, I’m going to completely backtrack. Typical me, but I need your advice on something._

_There’s this new guy at my work, and he hates me. He really, really hates me. I don’t know what to do about it. He has the job that I want, and he got it with absolutely no experience. I deserve this job, I know I do. How do I get him out, and prove to my boss that I can do this? As much of a temper as I do have, I don’t want to be underhanded about this. I don’t want to cheat. I want to win fair and square, but it’s impossible when no-one is taking me seriously._

_Your friend._

 

_Dear Friend,_

_In my experience, you just have to go for it. Don’t think of it as being underhanded, like you’re trying to steal the job away from this guy (who sounds like a total prick, might I add). It’s just business. You want the job, you deserve the job, and you can get it._

_Do everything right. Get him his files, do whatever he tells you to do, but don’t pretend that you like it. And, when the time is right, when your boss comes along, just be yourself. If you can prove you can do the work, don’t hesitate. Make a stand. Ask for the job, instead of waiting for it to be given to you. And then let me know how it goes._

_Your friend._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i split this up horribly. i'm bad at math. but that's why i'm here writing and not... doing math. okay

Steve’s drunk. Three sheets to the wind, staggering, mind-numbingly drunk. He doesn’t know exactly when he stopped counting how many shots he was throwing back, but it was definitely sometime around when Sharon had entered the bar with some people from the office. 

He watches her laugh with Barton and Stark and feels anger bubbling up in his stomach, a quiet rage that makes his way into his throat. The only thing that seems to calm it down is more alcohol, so Steve sits there, and he drinks. He watches, periodically calling the bartender over for another drink, as she makes small talk; sips at her single glass of Scotch; politely declines any man that comes her way.

Bucky and Sam are both watching him, concerned, because he never drinks this much. He’s not even supposed to be here, not supposed to be like this anymore, but now he can’t leave. She’s just so… confusing. That’s the only word that his drunk mind can come up with. He doesn’t understand a single thing about her. He thinks maybe he’s lonely. Maybe that’s why he’s fixated on this girl, because he’s lonely and he’s in love with some girl that he doesn’t even know because of things that she wrote to him, and he just needs someone. 

“That’s her, huh?” Sam asks, and Steve shrugs, unable to come up with a response. Bucky had urged him earlier to go over there, but Steve couldn’t do it. He never knew what to say to her. 

Steve watches Sharon dig in her purse from her phone, the smile quickly slipping from her face when she sees the caller. He doesn't want to pry, but for some reason he can't keep his eyes off her. Sharon's frown deepens even further as she listens to whoever is on the line. 

Her face pales and she practically falls out of the chair, the hand not holding her cell flying to her mouth. Steve’s heart races. He tries to stand, but his feet and brain stopped communicating the second he saw the look on her face. Sharon’s shaking her head, the phone long forgotten, as Natasha tries to drunkenly rub her back. 

Stark leans close to her ear, whispering something, and Sharon bites her lip in hesitation before she nods. Sharon leaves the bar with Stark, his hand on the small of her back. Steve’s stomach churns, and he is no closer to figuring her out. He thinks he’ll write a letter when he gets back to his apartment.

 

* * *

 

“Is she okay? Aunt Peggy, are you okay? It’s Sharon. Tell me what happened.” Sharon looks back and forth between the doctor and Peggy, not sure who to address. Not sure if Aunt Peggy can give her answers. Not sure if Aunt Peggy even knows who Sharon is. 

The doctor looks at Sharon, finishing up on Peggy's arm. “She’ll be alright. Just make sure to change the gauze every ten or so hours for the next few days, make sure it’s healing. Is there anyone who can watch your aunt while you’re at work? It might not be best to leave her alone for long periods of time.” Sharon knew, she _knew_ that going out was a bad idea. She wanted a break, sure, a few hours to let loose and get drunk like she used to at the Academy with all of her friends. That’s why she had caved so easily. Still, somewhere in the back of her mind, Sharon knew this would happen. And it’s all her fault. 

Sharon shakes her head, willing herself not to cry. “No, no-one. Just me.” The doctor presses her lips into a thin line, obviously not pleased. “Maybe you should consider—”

“No.” Sharon already knows what she’s going to say. They all say the same thing. “I’m not doing that to her.” 

The doctor — Sharon hadn’t even gotten her name in the mad rush to get to Aunt Peggy — shakes her head a little and shrugs. “There are a few places that aren’t so bad. I know you just want what’s best for your aunt. There are options for periodical visits. Leave her there while you’re at work.” There it is, the “leaving”. Almost everyone that Sharon has ever known has left her in one way or another, and the same thing has happened to Aunt Peggy. Sharon’s not going to be that last person that leaves her. She refuses to be. 

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Sharon grabs Peggy’s purse, ushering her out of the room. 

Tony jumps up from the chair he’d been sitting with in the waiting area when he sees them, surprisingly sober. “How is she?” he asks, and Sharon doesn’t answer, going in for a hug instead. “Hey,” he says, quieter, surprised. He tightens his hold on Sharon when she starts to shake, letting her get it out in private, her face buried in his chest. 

“She’s overreacting,” Peggy announces to him from Sharon’s right side. “It’s just a tiny burn. I’ve had worse. Isn’t that right, Howard?” 

“Don’t I know it,” Tony teases. Tony’s great at diffusing situations like this with his sense of humor, but only Sharon can feel the way that his shoulders tense at Peggy’s comment. Sharon pulls back from him, shielding her face with her hair as she quickly wipes her tears away. “Let’s get you girls home, okay?” 

He shoots Sharon a worried look as they walk back to his car.

 

* * *

 

Tony leaves Sharon at her apartment after a terse argument, helping her tuck Peggy into bed when he realized that Sharon wasn’t going to relent. “I can help you, you know,” he had said. It would’ve been so easy to just accept his offer. He barely came to work, anyway. Sharon didn’t know what he did on the days that he was absent, but she didn’t ask. Tony was a big boy, he could handle himself. And so could she. After Tony had left, Sharon grabbed the bottle of vodka that she’d been saving for a rainy day, made sure Peggy was asleep, and went up to the roof.

Sharon only does it when she’s certain that Aunt Peggy’s asleep. Sharon doesn’t want to scare her, make her think that Sharon’s gone missing or something like that. Sometimes she just needs the space, though, and her apartment doesn’t really offer that. She likes to write up there, or read. Anything that takes her mind off of life.

 

* * *

 

It’s a single sentence, one that Sharon can’t stop reading over and over and over again. She’d skipped work just like she wanted to; didn’t care what Steve thought of her or if she lost her shitty job, even though she was fairly certain she wasn’t going to.

After taking the much needed break, and letting Aunt Peggy get some rest, Sharon had gotten changed and took Aunt Peggy grocery shopping, then regular shopping, and then to the post office. And there it was, waiting for her.

_We should meet._

Sharon didn’t know what to write back, or how drunk she should get to do it. She wanted to write for pages, everything that she’s been feeling, every thought and wonder and dream. She wanted to write one word. _Yes_. The truth. But she also wanted wanted to hide the letter underneath the couch so that she didn’t have to feel it, the weight of it, the pressure on her heart. Finally, after Peggy’s in bed for the night, Sharon takes a pen and just lets it out. 

_Dear Friend,_

_This is going to sound crazy. You don’t even know me. But I feel like I know you, I really do. What if we—_

_Screw it. What if it was just you and me and it didn’t matter who we were and we ran away together? What if we did? Would that be so awful? I don’t even care who you are, and I know that sounds so stupid, but I don’t. You have to believe me. Because I know that these letters are a whole bunch of nothing, that we don’t talk about anything real, even when we do, but it’s real to me. This is the realest thing in my life, and I just needed you to know that. So there. Yes, I will meet you._

_Yes._

_Yes yes yes._

_Your friend._

 

* * *

 

Steve doesn’t expect the response, how it would feel to open the letter waiting for him, to read those words, everything that he’s been feeling. Yes, she had said. Yes yes yes.

He feels it all over him, like she’d branded the words on his skin, and he doesn’t know how to get rid of them. Not sure if he wants to, either. He feels like a teenager again, a lost boy with no clue, no idea how to speak to women. He still doesn’t, but he can speak to her. Has been for months. 

He’d written a response with the address, a restaurant down the street, one that he hasn’t been to in ages. It felt fitting. Something old, something new. It used to be a staple in his life, before he had gone away, and she’d become one after. It’s stupid, romantic, but he can’t help but want it to work out. The meeting of these two things, both so important to him in different ways, could mean something. It could be good. 

Her response comes just as fast, and it’s surprising, that she lives in D.C. too. Like fate. He doesn’t want to jinx it, but it feels big. Bigger than anything he’s done. Bigger than SHIELD, bigger than Hydra. 

Steve takes Sam and Bucky with him, because he can’t do it without them. He needs them there, just in case. He’s not sure in case of what, but he needs them. His hands are shaking. 

“I can’t do it.” Steve stops on the steps leading up to the place, shoving his hands deep into his pockets so that his friends won’t see them. “One of you look, please. I just can’t.” Bucky rolls his eyes. Sam shoots Bucky an irritated look. They both walk up to look through the glass door. 

Bucky bites down on his lip, snorting. Oh, god. She’s not there. Worse: it’s one of the old bullies from high school — a long, elaborate plan to embarrass and ruin him. Steve doesn’t know what would be worse, if it was someone he knew or someone he didn’t. He wishes Bucky and Sam would just spit it out already. 

“Didn’t you say you thought Carter was attractive?” Sam asks instead, which makes Steve’s head spin. What does that mean — does she look like Sharon? He’d be okay with that. Ecstatic, even. Not that he cared about looks at all. Well, he might, just a little. Didn’t everyone? 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Steve manages to ask, clenching his hands into fists in his pockets. 

“Because it _is_ Sharon Carter,” Bucky tells him, sneaking one last look into the restaurant. “Good luck with that, buddy.” Steve’s throat is dry. Sam at least has the decency to look apologetic, but Steve hasn’t known him as long as he’s known Bucky. 

Steve has no idea what to feel. He’s… shocked, mostly. A little bit angry. Surprised. All that time, all of those letters, it was Sharon. This entire time. He’d told her about his life, about himself, things that he never told anyone. He’d thought he was in love with her. Fuck, he’d even given her advice on how to deal with himself, he realizes. The irony. And now she was there, waiting for him, not knowing that it was him she was waiting for. He couldn’t do it. 

“I’m leaving,” he tells Sam and Bucky. Their eyes widen. 

“You’re kidding,” Sam says. 

“You’re not even going to go in? At all?” Bucky asks. 

Steve shrugs, annoyed. Maybe he won’t. So what? Not like she’s been anything but rude to him these last few months. 

“No,” he says, turning back around. His friends look at each other, in agreement for once, and decide not to push him. 

“Okay, well. I guess we’re going down to the bar,” Bucky says, and Sam shrugs. 

“I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

Steve nods, watching them leave. He makes sure they’re gone before he steels himself and walks into the restaurant.

 

* * *

 

_What’s worse than being stood up?_ Sharon had asked herself over and over as she finally forced herself to get dressed and to the restaurant.

This. This is worse. 

This is Steve Rogers, casually sauntering towards her table, hands in his pockets. Sharon racks her brain for any reason that she can give him for being here alone, and better yet for having a book with her at a place where you’re supposed to be socializing. He slides easily into the chair across from her, throwing her a cheesy, annoying grin (one that she’s unfortunately used to by now) and settles in next to her like he belongs there. Which he most certainly doesn’t. 

“What are you doing here?” Sharon hisses, ignoring the weird look on his face that is somewhere between disappointment and anger. If anyone has a right to be angry here, it’s her. She flinches before he answers her when the door opens, but she doesn’t see anyone with a book. Steve turns to look with her. 

“Waiting for someone?” he teases, eyes alight, and all Sharon wants to do is knock him on the side of the head with Jane Austen. 

“Even if I was, it’s none of your business.” He just raises an eyebrow, stealing her book off of the table. 

“ _Pride and Prejudice_ , huh? Didn’t peg you for a classics type.” Sharon’s heart is thundering when she hears the door open again. It’s like her head is connected to the bell on the door. With every ring she’s craning her neck in its direction, hoping that it’s him. 

Sharon turns her head to finally address Steve’s question. “What, because I can’t be a complicated human being with multiple likes and dislikes? Of course you’d think that,” she snaps at him. Steve’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, distracting her for a second until she hears the door again. He’s shaking his head at her when she looks back. 

“Why do you insist on twisting everything I say? Can’t we have a conversation, just this once?” 

Sharon rolls her eyes. “I don’t have to be nice to you. We’re not at work. And I’ll have you know that I _am_ meeting someone. Someone who happens to be a better person than you in a million different ways.” 

Apparently this is funny to him. Steve’s mouth has lifted at the sides, looking like he’s trying really hard to hold back laughter. “How so?” he finally asks, and Sharon uses that as an opportunity to steal her book back from him, placing it in front of her and folding her hands over top. 

“He’s smart, and funny, and most importantly, he’s _nice_. Something I’m sure you know nothing about. He has _manners_.” Steve does his non-laugh laugh again. Sharon sneaks a look at her phone. It’s officially 8:15, and her friend is late. She tries not to stress about it, but who is she kidding. She’s more wound up than she has been for anything else in her life. This could be _it_. She could be meeting the person she’s supposed to be spending the rest of her life with, and Steve Rogers is trying to sabotage it. “Please leave,” she begs him. She doesn’t know what else to do. “Please,” she says again, hoping that she can convey to him how much this means to her. 

Steve lifts his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.” He moves two tables down. Not exactly what she asked, but good enough.

 

* * *

 

It takes everything in Sharon not to fall to the floor when she gets up to leave after waiting at the restaurant for over three hours. Steve is still sitting there, eating the remnants of his dinner, watching as Sharon becomes more pathetic by the second.

He didn’t come.

After all of this, all of the letters and weighing her options and endless agonizing over what she was going to wear, he didn’t come. Sharon had swallowed her pride and asked Tony to watch over Aunt Peggy for the night, in case things went _extremely_ well, and now she had nothing to show for it. She’d even shaved her legs for the first time in who knows how long. 

It’s her fault, somehow. She’d said something, _done_ something wrong, and he didn’t care about her anymore. Or worse, he’d come and he’d seen her and decided it wasn’t worth it. That _she_ wasn’t worth it. 

The waitress had stopped coming by after the first hour. Sharon had repeatedly said she was waiting on someone. She doesn’t want to look, but she’s sure that they’re all probably staring at her, pitying her, and she can’t face it. Even Steve had gone silent after that. 

There’s nothing else to do. Sharon struggles to her feet, the restaurant closing in ten minutes, and starts towards the door, heart pounding. She leaves her book on the table. She’s not sure that she’ll ever be able to look at it ever again. 

Sharon feels a tug at her arm and it’s Steve, holding her old, deeply loved and battered copy of P&P, looking like he wants to say something but he’s not sure what. 

“Sharon…” he starts, but Sharon shakes her head, not emotionally stable enough at the moment to hold a conversation with him. The worst night of her life, and he’s there to see it all — the crushing embarrassment, the waiting, the pain evident on her face. She’s too tired to hold it all in. 

“Don’t, okay? Please just don’t.” Sharon leaves him there, holding the book, as she starts her dejected walk home. 

Past everything: the sadness and anger and betrayal, Sharon’s just heartbroken. She’d actually thought she felt something for this nameless, faceless guy that she called Dear Friend. And here she is, alone again. Figures.

 

* * *

 

There are twenty unread text messages on Sharon’s phone, along with three missed calls and an angry voicemail from Natasha, who probably thinks Sharon is dead. It’d be insulting, the lack of confidence in her training and combat abilities, if she wasn’t so upset. Instead it’s just sad, because Sharon’s sad, and she can’t really feel anything else at the moment. 

After she’d left the bar, Sharon had practically run home, wanting to be away from everything and everyone. Tony had tried to console her, had said something along the lines of “fuck him” (or maybe exactly that, Sharon can’t really remember), and she had gently but insistently kicked him out of her apartment. Aunt Peggy was already sleeping by then, so Sharon had grabbed the last carton of mint chocolate chip from the freezer, put on her pajamas, and went to town. 

Disgusting as it may be, she’d skipped taking her makeup off and brushing her teeth in favor of crying into the carton in order to lull herself to sleep. It was pathetic, but Sharon deserved to be pathetic, just this once. 

She skipped work again. She just couldn’t bear everyone’s stares, knowing that they’d be disappointed by this turn of events. All of her friends knew about the letters. It was hard to keep this kind of thing a secret from spies, and Sharon didn’t want to, besides. She had been happy, and they wanted her to be. And now it had all gone to shit. 

Another knock on her bedroom door. Sharon had already dismissed Aunt Peggy once, and she’d felt awful for doing so. Sharon was supposed to be taking care of her, not the other way around. “You feeling any better, darling?” her aunt asks, almost making Sharon burst into tears again. She wasn’t, but she had to be. For Peggy. 

“Yeah, Aunt Peg. You can come in.” The door creaks as her aunt opens it and Sharon sits up in bed. The room is barely big enough for the both of them, so Peggy makes her way towards the small bed, sitting down on top of the covers. Sharon leans her head on Peggy’s shoulder. 

“You look awful,” Peggy says after they sit in silence for a minute or so. Sharon snorts, eyes closed. She could almost fall asleep again if she wanted to, had it been quiet a while longer. 

“I feel awful.” Sharon snuggles deeper into Peggy’s side. 

Peggy shifts, wrapping an arm around Sharon, clearing her throat. “I know…” Peggy starts, and the tone in her voice causes Sharon to sit up. “I know that it’s hard on you, my illness. But I hope you know that I wouldn’t want you to give up your chance at happiness because of me. You’ve given up so much already.”

“And I’d give up anything.” Sharon takes her aunt’s hands in her own. “I want _you_ to know that I’d do anything for you, Aunt Peggy, okay? There is nothing that I could give up that wouldn’t be worth it, just to know that you’re okay and that you’re safe. You’re my family and I love you.” 

Peggy gives Sharon a watery smile, and Sharon tackles her deeper into the bed with a hug. “I love you too, Sharon. Like my very own.” It’s quiet again before Peggy speaks. “I think it might be time,” she says, taking a deep breath, “to get me some medical help. I can’t let you take care of me forever.” 

“Only if that’s what you want.” 

“It is. Now clean yourself up, darling. You look like a drowned rat.” Sharon fake gasps, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Rude.”

 

* * *

 

Everyone comes over after work, even Clint, who looks slightly uncomfortable, considering he didn’t even know where Sharon lived.

“Thought you were kind of a mystery,” he says, folding his arms behind his neck on the couch. Sharon had settled him down with promises of pizza and beer. “I didn’t even know you, like, had a house.” 

“I’m not the grim reaper, Clint,” Sharon answers him with a laugh, but with all of the information Sharon didn’t share about herself, it might as well have been true. She’s just glad it’s all out there, now, instead of holding it in. She feels freer. Like a new version of herself, which is silly, but still true. 

Clint shrugs, reaching for another slice from the box. It’s weird, having all of her friends here, in this apartment that she’s been living in for what seems like half of her life. Her friends, speaking with Aunt Peggy, eating pizza and laughing, making her feel better. 

Bobbi rolls her eyes at Clint, giving him a swift kick to the shin and ignoring his subsequent cry. “Ignore him. He still has no idea how to do his own laundry.” 

Natasha smirks, sipping her drink quietly. Ever the observer. 

“Are you okay, Sharon?” Hope asks, throwing Sharon a warm smile. Sharon wants to say that she is, but she knows that that would be a lie. Instead, she says the next best thing.

“No. But I will be.”

 

* * *

 

Steve’s here. On her roof. Not that she owns it, or anything, but in all her years of living in this building no one has ever come up here before. At least, not at the same time as her, which counts for something.

She’d been up here trying to think of something to say to Dear Friend without it coming out as pathetic or whiny. Like she didn’t care that he hadn’t come, even though she had. It’s three o’clock in the morning and this is all she has. More than a year of communication, months of wanting, and all Sharon can manage is one fractured sentence, her hand shaking as she writes the words.

_Why didn’t — why didn’t you come?_

Why is it that, no matter what she does, she isn’t enough? That was all that she could think, after her friends left, and it was eating her alive. 

Steve offers her a soft smile and Sharon shakes the thoughts away, trying to smile back at him, not wanting to betray exactly how awful she’s feeling at the moment. He keeps finding her in her worst moments, and it’s infuriating. Still, she chooses to take his smile as an offering, and instead of being angry Sharon wants to accept it. She’s tired of being angry. 

“Hey,” Steve starts, leaning against the edge of the brick next to Sharon. She turns her head to look at him. The night-time Steve, in his sweats and sleep shirt, disheveled in a way that tells her that he couldn’t sleep, either. “You okay?” She wishes that people would stop asking her that. It’s the same thing that people had asked when her parents had died. She never knew what to say in response, especially to strangers. 

And that’s what he is, isn’t he? A stranger. 

Sharon snorts, a choked sort of sound. She doesn’t know if she can be okay again so quickly. She wishes that he hadn’t asked. When Hope had asked her earlier in the day, it had been easy. Her friends had been around, and Sharon had felt so much better. Now, alone with the stars, it was a lot harder to lie to herself. She’d thought… she’d thought so many things. Clearly all of them were wrong. “I don’t know,” she tells him truthfully. And the look in his eyes, the honesty there, the lack of judgement, it makes her spill everything. 

The letters, the meeting, all of it. Even though he’d been there, he didn’t know. Not all of it. 

“Why did you do it?” Steve asks, after she’s done pouring her heart out. It’s such a simple question, in the grand scheme of things, but Sharon’s never really thought about it before. “Put the ad in the newspaper. You have friends.” 

“I do. I love my friends, they’re good people, I just—I don’t know.” Sharon shrugs, looks up at the sky, feels very, very small. “Do you ever feel like you live a small life? Because I—I do. I live a small life. I haven’t really done anything, you know? I follow the rules and I take care of Aunt Peggy and what else is there? What else do I really need?”

Steve’s not looking away. She wants him to, can’t bear someone focusing so wholly on her, so she keeps babbling. “But I do. I did. I needed...  _something_. I needed to talk to someone who didn't know me, someone that wouldn’t judge. Someone I could just be myself with, without all of the extra stuff. And he was there.” 

“I know what you mean,” he says, “about living a small life. When I was undercover, I feel like… I lost myself. Like I don’t know what it means to be Steve anymore.” 

Sharon laughs, a desperate, inappropriate response, because it’s like he’s looked at her but looked into her, voicing the things that Dear Friend seemed to understand about her that no one else could. “Yes! Exactly. It’s like… I’ve spent so long living in Aunt Peggy’s shadow that I don’t really know… how to be myself, I guess. Does that make sense? Like, I’ll act out and be crazy and everyone thinks I’m so spontaneous and I speak my mind or whatever, but that’s not true. I’m just scared. Scared of living life and scared of what’ll happen once I finally do.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a rap on the door of the filing room, causing Sharon to jump and nearly send a stack of files sprawling. She’s taken to sitting in front of the door, mostly because it’s convenient and she doesn’t have anywhere else to lean her back on, but also because it alerts her to anything happening outside of her Steve Rogers-appointed prison cell.

She scoots over a bit, careful not to disturb her organized chaos, and calls out a “come in”. Sharon doesn’t really know what she’s expecting, exactly, but it’s definitely not Steve Rogers himself, white dress shirt unbuttoned at the sleeves, holding a bag of takeout. She can smell it from where she’s seated, greasy and pungent and amazing. She hopes she’s not salivating, but it’s not like Steve’s opinion of her could get any worse at this point, anyway. 

Steve’s poking his head around the door, lips quirked up in amusement at her current position. “Hey,” he says, wary. He probably thinks that she’s going to yell at him, which is the norm for most of their interactions now. “You’ve been in here a while. It’s pretty late; everyone else went home. Thought you might be hungry.” 

Sharon glances down at her phone, unlocking it quickly, and raises her eyes at the time. It’s well past midnight, she hadn’t even realized. No one had even texted her that they were leaving, the traitors. She looks up at Steve accusingly. It’s not his fault, she knows that, but this is suspicious. Why is he being nice to her all of a sudden? Maybe it’s because of what happened with Aunt Peggy last week. Sharon narrows her eyes at him. She doesn’t need his pity, and opens her mouth to say so. 

“I don’t—”

“Need my help,” Steve finishes, smile widening as he steps fully into the room. “I know.” Sharon lets out a laugh through her nose, flustered for no apparent reason. He looks different, is all, without his neatly put together appearance, his hair messed up. She doesn’t know what to do with this new version of him. 

“Okay, you got me.” She reaches out for the food. There’s even utensils and a can of coke in the bag. “Thanks,” she says, softly. Sharon hopes this isn’t some repay-the-favor situation. She really doesn’t like owing things to anyone. Steve lingers in the doorway, watching her for a little too long. Sharon can’t help but stare back. He really does have nice eyes. 

“You’re welcome.”

 

* * *

 

_Dear Friend,_

_I have no idea how to start this. Don’t even know if you’ll read it, but if you are, I am so unbelievably sorry. There’s nothing else to say, really, besides that. I know you don’t want to hear any excuses. I wouldn’t either, if you had done to me what I had to you._

_But please know this: there is nowhere that I’d rather be than with you. You have… you have opened something in my heart that I didn’t know was even there, and I have ruined yours. I’m a coward. I saw you there, in that red dress, and I realized all at once that I don’t deserve you. I especially do not deserve that dress._

_I’m a coward, always have been._

_I try to act brave, but deep down I’m selfish. And I know that if you saw me, you would feel the same. Please don’t hate me. I couldn’t take it if you hated me. All I want is for you to forgive me, but I’ll understand if you don’t._

_Your friend._

 

_Dear Friend,_

_It’s forgiven. I won’t lie: I was hurt. I thought that you saw me and thought that I wasn’t worth it. I would have understood if you thought so. Please don’t be scared. We can try again. Whoever you are, I want to know you. For real._

_Your friend._

 

* * *

 

It keeps happening. Sharon didn’t know that they had this much in common, but there he is, again and again and again. She doesn’t know what to think. Should she be suspicious, angry? Mostly she’s just surprised. After that night on the roof, something had changed. It was a subtle shift in their relationship, but an obvious one. Sharon’s just not sure exactly what that shift entails.

Are they friends now? 

Sharon’s not sure, but time and time again, he’s there. At the book store, he’s there. Her favorite coffee place, he’s there. He’d even remembered her obsession with burgers one night and brought her her favorite while she was working late. It was becoming a _thing_ between them, food and late nights. 

Sharon doesn’t know if it’s because he’s decided to take pity on her because of her, and wishes, if he did, that he would just drop it. Because she doesn’t want him to make an effort, doesn’t want to like him. It’s so much easier to just hate him without anything else. 

Now there’s this, and Sharon’s not entirely sure she knows what “this” is.

But here he is, tight fitting t-shirt and all, waiting in line to see the same movie as her. Sharon doesn’t know what to do with it. She mostly just wants to ignore him, but he’s impossible to ignore. He’s like the freaking sun. How do you ignore the sun when it’s right there, flashing in front of your face? You can’t. 

“Huge fan of period dramas, are you?” Sharon asks him when they both have their tickets and walking towards the theater. Steve jumps, spilling some of his popcorn and making her laugh. “Someone’s jumpy,” she teases. 

“Sorry,” he says, his face breaking into a smile. “I didn’t know you were here.” He blushes slightly when he says it, making Sharon doubt the validity of his statement. 

“Sure you didn’t.” 

He coughs, opening the door of the theater to let Sharon pass. “Want to sit together?” he asks. Sharon hesitates. Friends do shit like this, right? Go to movies together? 

She’d given herself a break because Aunt Peggy was staying overnight at one of many live-in facilities that they’re testing out. It was a slow process, but Sharon didn’t want to rush into things. If Peggy was going to move out, it wouldn’t be for another year, at least. 

Sharon decides that it’s not that big of a deal, just happening upon him here and sitting next to him. It’s not a date. After the movie, Steve walks her home, the night stretching out before them. It’s the most time that Sharon’s spent alone with anyone besides Peggy in a long time. 

They stop in front of the stairs leading up to the apartment doors, standing there for what seems like ages. Sharon doesn’t know what’s happening, but she knows that she can’t leave. She just knows that she can’t because if she does she’s going to miss something big, something that feels so important, and it’s there on the tip of her tongue but she just doesn’t know _what_. 

“Sharon,” Steve says, and it’s just that, just her name, but it feels like so much more. 

“What?” 

“I just…” he’s looking at her and it feels heavy, the weight of his eyes on her. They’re standing in a similar position to that first time he’d been at her house, but it’s so much different now. “Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like, if it hadn’t happened the way that it did. If we hadn’t been introduced at work like that, if we’d just _met_.” 

It’s so quiet. Sharon sucks in a deep breath. “I know.” 

“I would’ve asked for your number,” Steve tells her. Sharon feels a shiver run through her, his words on her skin, all over her. She feels her face go hot, but she can’t look away from him, the sincerity written all over his face. “I would’ve. And I would’ve called you and asked you to coffee, or to the movies… anywhere. I’d ask you ever day, for as long as we both shall live.” 

“Steve.” It’s such a thing to say, what he just told her. She can’t stop picturing it, him in her apartment, both of them going out for coffee, holding hands or kissing or in her bed. He can’t just say things like that, it’s so _unfair_.

“We wouldn’t have fought, or hated each other, and the only thing we’d ever fight about would be like… what our favorite movie is.” He bites at his cheek, trying to stop himself from saying any more, but Sharon doesn’t know if she wants him to stop. His hand reaches out, stroking down her arm. Sharon closes her eyes for a split second, taking it in. 

“I have to… I have to go,” she blurts. “Sorry. I just… I have to go.”

“Yeah,” he says, flatly. “Yeah. I’ll um…” he swallows. Sharon’s already halfway up the stairs, heart racing, “…call you.”

 

* * *

 

When Steve asks Sharon if she wants to accidentally bump into him at the movies again sometime, she doesn’t say no. So there’s that.

 

* * *

 

“This is starting to become a habit,” Sharon says, startling Steve so much that she hears the distinct thump of his head smacking against the bottom of the sink. She tries to hold in her laughter, unsuccessfully, as he maneuvers his way out from underneath it.

He’s smiling when he makes his way out, looking up at her, and Sharon squats down to his level. 

“Care to explain?” she asks, taking a sip of wine.

It wasn’t what she had expected to come home to, but Sharon’s come to find that Steve Rogers is full of surprises. Most of them good ones. She’d seen him laid out underneath her sink when she came in, but apparently he hadn’t heard her, so Sharon had gotten herself busy before speaking to him. She’d slipped into her comfiest polar bear pajamas with the matching top, poured herself a glass of wine, and then finally addressed the situation. 

“Peggy mentioned the other day that you guys have had this leaky faucet for, what? Two years now?” he guesses, and Sharon nods, making herself more comfortable on the floor by crossing her legs. It’s silly, sitting on the floor with him in her kitchen. Something that she used to do with Tony when they were kids. But it’s nice. “So I thought I’d come by and fix it. No biggie.” 

“Well,” Sharon says softy, “thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to.” There he is again, with the words and the making her want him. She really needs to get a grip. 

“You staying for dinner?” she asks. “I think we have some leftover pizza in the fridge,” Sharon laughs, the wine making her feel light and brave, heat curling in her stomach in a way that hasn’t been there in years. 

“Let me cook for you,” Steve says. His eyes flit across her bare shoulder, the collar of her shirt having slipped down a few inches when she settled on the floor. “You deserve it.” 

“Okay. Yes.”

 

* * *

 

It’s a night like all of their nights are becoming. Steve and Sharon (and sometimes, almost always, Peggy), glasses of wine, and Sharon’s couch. Or her kitchen table, or sometimes even the floor. Sharon’s not picky. She just likes having Steve there: talking to him, laughing with him, listening to him talk to Peggy.

Sometimes Steve cooks dinner, sometimes, more often than not, Sharon orders out. Always there’s this: an accidental touch, Steve or Sharon looking too long, Aunt Peggy excusing herself to give them “privacy” (her words, not Sharon’s), and a lingering silence. That is the part that Sharon’s not quite so sure about. 

Mostly, she just wants to kiss him, which is… bad. Unfortunate. She can’t let herself do that, even if she wants to, because she’s writing letters again and it feels like a betrayal. To both of them, but also to herself. 

But it’s there again, them sitting on the couch, and Steve is leaning in, Sharon’s drink abandoned on her coffee table. 

There’s a sharp intake of breath as Sharon pulls away from him. She can’t do this. She can’t. She’s not technically with… with Dear Friend, but she wants to be. And Steve’s not… and _he’s_ not… and her head is all confused. 

“You should go,” Sharon tells him. All of this, all of the fake run-ins and “accidental” plans, it’s all been a mistake. They shouldn’t be doing this. 

“Sharon,” he starts, but she’s already shaking her head. She wipes her sweaty palms on her thighs; tries to not think about how incredible Steve had smelled when he’d leaned in. “Just do something for me, okay? Instead of picturing whoever it is you wanted to show up that night, picture me. Imagine me walking through your door instead of him.” 

“Don’t.” Sharon hops off the couch, getting angry again, which is now starting to seem like a consequence of hanging around Steve instead of a random occurrence. She’d thought she was past that, but maybe she isn’t. Maybe he isn’t. “This isn’t a joke to me.” 

“It’s not a joke to me, either,” he insists, following her towards the front door. “If you could just let me explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Sharon whines, wishing that he would just _leave_. “I’m in love with someone else! And you’re not— _mmph_.” 

Steve presses her up against the door, his hands cupping her face. Sharon feels herself struggle for a second, like an out of body experience, before she gives in. She’s never been kissed like this before. 

Steve kisses her like he’s been waiting for it; like each pass of their lips is something that he’ll never get back. He’s gentle, but he’s not holding back, either. Steve wants her to feel something, and _god_ , Sharon feels it all. She feels his ragged breaths as he moves his lips down her shoulder, and presses closer to him, even though they’re as close as they can be, because she can’t get enough. Steve pulls away to look at her, their cheeks brushing, and Sharon feels her heart in her throat. His hand has somehow managed to push up her top, absentmindedly stroking the patch of skin exposed. 

She doesn’t want it to end. She wants it to be over immediately. She has no idea what she wants. “What are we doing?” she gasps, and Steve catches her eyes, his pupils blown and his lips red. She did that. He looks like this because of her, Sharon Carter. 

“Do you remember what you wrote in your letters?” he asks, and that breaks Sharon out of the trance Steve has put her in. 

“What?” Steve is trailing his hands up and down her sides and it’s making it extremely hard to concentrate. 

“Do you remember?” 

“Yes, of course I remember. I remember everything I wrote.” 

“You said it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter who we were because the letters meant something to you and we could run away—”

Sharon pushes him away, far enough that she can breathe. He stumbles back a few steps, disoriented, never taking his eyes off of her. “What do you—what are—what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying… would it matter if it was _me_?” Sharon’s heart stutters in her chest, a sporadic rhythm that has her breathing even heavier than when Steve was kissing her, if that’s possible. Everything about him has just become unbelievably clear. Well, all but one thing. 

“Steve, I need you to say it out loud. _Please_.” 

“It’s me, okay? I’m P.O. Box 2368. Dear Friend. It’s me.” 

Sharon gives it a second to let the hurt really seep in. Steve looks like he wants to reach out and touch her, but Sharon can’t let him. Even after everything that he’s done, everything that he’s told her and their friendship, there’s still _that_. That one thing. She doesn’t even know how to say it. 

“Then that night at the restaurant…” 

“It’s not what you think.” 

Sharon scoffs, a sound from somewhere deep inside of her that she didn’t even know that she could make. “So, what? You just saw me and you thought… all of this… the letters and…” Sharon’s breath hitches in her throat. She will _not_ cry. Not for him. She won’t. “And you thought, just, fuck it? Because I wasn’t good enough. Is that it?” 

Steve’s shaking his head, taking a step towards her. She flinches back, pressed against the door as much as possible. She has nowhere to run, and Steve at least has the decency to not get too close. “No, Sharon, come on. You know that’s not it. I was just being pigheaded and… I don’t know. Things between us just weren’t… and I was angry. I don’t know.” 

“No, you _do_ know. Because you saw me that night and you _knew_ it was me, and you _knew_ that I was the same person that wrote all those things to you. You knew that. And you decided not to tell me. To… to _lie_ to me. Even after that night, when you started coming around here, making my Aunt Peggy like you. Why would you do that?” 

“Because I wanted you to fall in love with me,” Steve blurts out. He drags a frantic hand through his hair. Sharon’s hands are shaking. With anger, with want, with everything. “I wanted you to fall in love with _me_ , and not this… version of me that you had in your head. So that you could see that the guy in the letters and me, we’re the same person. I just wanted you to see that.” 

“Okay.” 

“So is that it? ‘Okay?’”

“I don’t know, Steve, what do you want me to say? This is a lot to take in.” 

“Just… forgive me.” 

“Just like that?” 

“I should go.” Steve blurts it out as a last resort, Sharon can tell. But she doesn’t want him to leave. Just this once, she wants him to stay and she wants to _fix_ this. He makes for the door handle behind her, but Sharon blocks his path. 

“I wanted it to be you.” That does the job pretty nicely, in her opinion. Steve stops in his tracks. They’re chest to chest again, Sharon’s hand clutched tightly against the doorknob. 

Steve swallows, thick, and when he finally speaks again his voice is deep; raspy. Wanting. “Yeah?” His hand goes to the back of his neck. 

Sharon closes her eyes, tries to be angry some more, and decides it isn’t worth it. “I wanted it to be you so badly,” she tells him, and he goes in for another kiss. This time she gives as good as she gets, wanting him to feel it all. The letters and their nights together in this shitty apartment and all of it. All of it.

 

* * *

 

Forgiveness feels a bit like this: Sharon’s bed and Steve’s skin and his words and then the after. The after, where he kisses her like he’s drowning and she’s air, a whispered _I love you_ , and a confession.

“You were the first person I saw, you know, after I came back from Germany. The first person I really, really saw. You have no idea how much your letters meant to me.” 

“I do. I do know. Because they did the same for me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please tell me if this was enjoyable or even if it wasn't. honestly this fic is so self-indulgent like i just wanted to write my two faves in one of my fave movies. who can resist meg ryan and tom hanks? not me that's for sure. tbh i want to make people feel the way that you've got mail makes me feel


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